


prize your heart of gold

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Royalty, princess diaries 2 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 18:19:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12870312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Mitch Marner is a pain in Dylan’s ass.Like. He’s already trying to steal Dylan’s throne, but why does he also have to be the literal, actual worst person Dylan’s ever met? Ever?He makes his ringtone “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King.” Like, who the fuck even is this kid.





	prize your heart of gold

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%.
> 
> liberties were taken with the fictional country of Genovia, so we’re pretending it’s like, very close to Canada, for the sake of convenience. somewhere in the Atlantic, i guess? don’t take any of the politics in this seriously. don’t ask me who the king currently is, or how the strome brothers found out they were royalty, but dylan didn’t know he was a prince til he was like 17, true to the princess diaries franchise. i know mitch marner does have an older brother irl, but for the purposes of this fic he doesn’t count, or something. thanks to ali for commenting and ang for like everything. title is from "your crowning glory" and i feel compelled to apologize to julie andrews.
> 
> i haven't slept since i started writing this so really this has been a whirlwind writing experience! 
> 
> untagged stuff and bonus content in the notes!

It’s 2017, so the fact that Dylan is the second Strome son shouldn’t be an issue. Inheritance shit like that is, like, outdated as fuck, and anyway, Ryan’s in the NHL and hasn’t even been to Genovia in years. Dylan was a fucking International Studies major, specializing in Econ. Like, he had to pass calculus for that shit, he’d better fucking end up with a country at the end of this. 

(Even if that country is a small shitty island that’s like, a tiny, less hip, slightly warmer Iceland. It’s a country. One Dylan loves, kind of a lot.)

Shockingly, things don’t tend to work out for Dylan, so of course it ends up being a problem, because some total  _ dick  _ just fucking strolled into Dylan’s welcome ball – which, rude, even if he was invited – and is now claiming that he’s the heir? Which is some bullshit. Dylan’s heard of Mitch Marner before, and no one brought him up as even a potential heir even once, just a politician with some royal connections by marriage, but apparently he’s next in line because of some second son clause?

And  _ oh my god, _ the nobles are actually considering this.  

 

***

 

“Davo, what the fuck is happening,” Dylan groans. 

“I guess no one thought to change it?” Connor says, and he sounds apologetic, like a shitty, outdated law is somehow his fault.

“Can I fight him?” Dylan asks.

“Technically you could, actually, but that might not do much to ingratiate you to the people,” Connor says.

“Why are you such a buzzkill?”

“I’m your advisor. You pay me to be.” 

“You’re fired. Can I fight him?” 

“...he’s not that bad–” 

“Fuck you, you’re rehired as my advisor, fired as my friend.” 

“Dylan.” 

“Okay, fine, you’re rehired as my friend too,” Dylan says. “I still wanna fight him, though.”

 

***

 

Dylan has to get married now, apparently, because that’s the only way a second son can become a legitimate king around here. 

“We could always ask them to disown Ryan,” Matt suggests. 

“No disowning Ryan,” Dylan says, firm. “He still knows John Tavares. There are some ties you don’t cut, dude.” He’s mostly joking, because Ryan wouldn’t mind getting disowned on a technicality. As much as he loves them, he really hates this royal bullshit, and Dylan’s starting to see why.

Dylan hasn’t spoken to Mikey McLeod in a few years, but Mikey agrees to do him a favor and marry him anyway, because Matt McLeod is happy to rule over the country he gets by birthright, and Mikey thinks being a king could be fun. 

“What if we high fived only with our middle fingers, like, because we’re both middle children? It’d be, like, a meme for our marriage,” Mikey says.

“That doesn’t make any sense. How would that work?” Dylan spends a few seconds trying it with his own two hands before he realizes that it looks fucking dumb.

“Nater thought it was a hilarious idea,” Mikey says.

“Wouldn’t you just be flipping me off? And who’s Nater?” Dylan asks.

Mikey waves him off. “He’s head of security on my little brother’s detail. You’ll get to know him.” 

“Is Ryan coming to Genovia too?” Dylan asks.

“Duh,” Mikey says, like it’s obvious.

 

***

 

Meanwhile, Mitch Marner is a pain in Dylan’s ass. 

Like. He’s already trying to steal Dylan’s throne, but why does he also have to be the literal, actual worst person Dylan’s ever met? Ever?

He makes his ringtone “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King.” Like, who the fuck even is this kid.

 

He pulls  _ pranks.  _ Like they’re five years old, or something.

Okay, they’re good pranks – royal caliber pranks, and not only in funding – and Dylan pulls a few pranks of his own, but still. 

Like:

“Why is my floor made of ice?” Dylan asks, walking into his study, where Marner is sitting with both his feet propped up on Dylan’s desk.

“I figured I’d want a rink up here. Y’know, when I’m king.” He puts his hands behind his head. Dylan could kill him, probably.

“Well, joke’s on you, because this is the prince’s suite, not the king’s, and now I just get to skate whenever I want, so.” It’s actually kind of inconvenient to slip across a sheet of ice to get to his clothing, but it’s the closet full of special occasion clothing. Most of the clothing Dylan wears on a daily basis is in his other closet, or, like, scattered on the floor of his room.

“You like to skate?” Mitch says. Or,  _ Marner  _ says, not Mitch. He’s a cocky little shit, and Dylan refuses to call him by his given name, even if he does sound surprised, almost earnest. 

“I played hockey when I was younger,” Dylan says, and he is  _ not  _ blushing. 

(Okay, fine, he’s only blushing a  _ little, _ whatever.) 

“I didn’t know that,” Marner says, and Dylan has a lot of questions. Like, why would he expect to know that, but also, and maybe more importantly, why is he looking at Dylan now like – like he’s seeing something different, all of a sudden? It’s weird, so Dylan just rolls his eyes, and the moment – Dylan hadn’t even realized it had been a moment, but now Mitch is blushing, so it must have been – is over.

 

He’s back to raising hell the next day, and Dylan – he minds it, obviously, because Mitch is annoying, but that Moment (which, at some point over the course of Way Overthinking It, had turned into a capital-M Moment) keeps playing over and over in his head, so the way it bothers him is a little different, than before. 

Or maybe, Mitch is just bothering him differently than before?

It’s weird. It’s whatever.

 

***

 

The wedding is in three days, so, there’s a luncheon. 

Dylan and Mikey are supposed to be making nice as kings-to-be, and it’s going well. Mikey’s made a ton of people laugh, everyone is doting on them both, and some people even seem to believe that they’re actually in love. It’s not untrue – Dylan likes Mikey plenty. He’s not, like, into him, but he’s a good bro. 

Currently, Mikey is wearing an earpiece and pretending to be Dylan’s bodyguard, which makes Nathan Bastian – head of Ryan McLeod’s security detail and owner of said  earpiece – laugh very loudly. It earns him a fond eyeroll from Dylan, too, even if it is kind of embarrassing. But it’s cute-embarrassing, so. 

And then. Mitch fucking Marner shows up. 

Of fucking  _ course  _ he does. 

“He’s cute,” Mitch says, sarcastic, as Mikey trails after Nate, who’s being dragged somewhere by Ryan McLeod.

“Cuter than you,” Dylan says. It’s the wrong thing to say, if the way Mitch smirks is any indication. 

“Aw, you think I’m cute?” Mitch says. 

“I think you’re terrible,” Dylan shoots back. 

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive,” Mitch coos, and Dylan’s face turns red. With anger, not with – whatever 

Okay, look, Mitch  _ is  _ cute. Objectively. He has nice eyes, and when his smile doesn’t make Dylan want to throw things, it’s not awful to look at. And he’s scrawny, except not really, because his arms are… pretty large. Sturdy. He probably works out. 

 

Dylan drags Mitch to the fountain to have a conversation. 

“Look, can you stop it?” 

“Stop what?” Mitch is grinning, and it’s definitely a punch-worthy grin. 

“You know exactly what, okay? Just – stop.” Dylan crosses his arms. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mitch says, almost sing-song.

“Oh, fuck you,” Dylan says.

“Wow, forward,” Mitch says. “Isn’t that your fiancé’s job?”

“He’s – that’s so not even  _ close  _ to being your business.”

“Oh, sorry, guess I don’t get to hear about what goes on in the royal boudoir,” Mitch says. “Unless you’re trying to tell me that you’re not really into him.” 

“Back off,” Dylan says seriously, and he steps closer to Mitch, and Mitch’s breath kind of catches, which is good, because it means he’s intimidated, but it’s also very not good, because Dylan’s brain is starting to short circuit, a little. 

“Make me,” Mitch says, except it’s almost breathless, and he’s blushing now, and then his eyes travel up and down Dylan’s body, which makes Dylan’s brain short circuit a  _ lot,  _ and then– 

 

Dylan doesn’t even know what happens next, or who starts what, just that one second, they’re standing there by the fountain, and the next, they’re kissing, hot and fast and angry, and god, Dylan still hates Mitch Marner, but Mitch Marner’s hand is tangled in Dylan’s hair, and Dylan’s pulling his hips closer, and Dylan thinks that he could never get enough of this. 

 

But then, he thinks again, and he pushes Mitch away, because this is a bad idea. 

“What the fuck?” he says, and turns around to leave, but Mitch grabs his wrist. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so–” 

“Let go,” Dylan says, and he’s not expecting it when Mitch yanks his hand away lightning-fast at the same time he tries to jerk his wrist out of a nonexistent grip, so they both end up off-balance, and then, a few seconds later, toppling over into the fountain.

Right as the entire fucking luncheon walks in. Great.

(Mikey thinks it’s hilarious, though. Dylan might not be in love with him, but he’s a saint, honestly.)

 

***

 

Dylan cools off a bit, tries not to think about it too much after he’s done getting chewed out by his family. 

That night, someone’s throwing pebbles at his window. 

He looks outside, and. 

Guess who. 

“Hey, Strome-punzel,” Mitch says, and there’s this new smile on his face, something between the cocky grin Dylan knows and the genuine thing he did the other day. 

Dylan doesn’t know why he’s not angry that Mitch is here. It’s because Mitch is… exciting, maybe. Still cute. Plus, he definitely kissed Dylan, and tried to apologize, too, and Dylan’s feeling weird and impulsive about things right now. He’s getting married in a few days, he’ll be king in a few weeks, maybe he wants an adventure while he can still get away with it, and maybe he wants to make a stupid choice. Mitch is definitely a stupid choice.

“I’m not gonna let down my hair,” Dylan says, and he smiles, despite himself. 

“Whatever,” Mitch says. “I’d rather have the rest of you.” 

Dylan rolls his eyes, but it’s more fond than anything else. “Smooth.” 

“Smooth enough to get you out of bed?” Mitch wags his eyebrows, and Dylan laughs, and he’s unlatching the window when Mitch says, “Wait.” 

Dylan looks at him, confused. 

Mitch clears his throat. “Grab your skates.” 

 

There’s a lake, at the edge of the castle grounds, and it’s frozen right now, and Dylan hasn’t had time to skate on it yet, because of wedding stuff.

“You skate like shit.” 

“Fuck you,” Dylan says, no real heat behind it. 

“Seriously, I don’t know how you were drafted into the fucking OHL,” Mitch chirps. 

“I was 15,” Dylan says, and then, after a beat, “Wait, did you look me up?”

Mitch shrugs, not meeting Dylan’s eyes. “I mean, I knew about your brother, but I wanted to figure out if you were bullshitting me about playing. Didn’t know you were–” he does a hand gesture. “Y’know. A big deal, or whatever.”

“I – it was the OHL,” Dylan says. 

“You were going to go high in the NHL draft,” he says. “Top 5.” 

Dylan’s quiet for a second. “Those were early predictions. Probably premature” 

“Because you went to college,” Mitch says. “Not even NCAA, you just – you stopped playing.” 

“I played intramural when I had time,” Dylan says. 

“You could’ve gone pro,” Mitch says. 

Dylan bites his lip. “Maybe.” 

“I’ve seen your highlight reels,” Mitch says. “It’s not a maybe.” 

“Well, this mattered more to me,” Dylan says. 

“You didn’t even grow up here,” Mitch says. “You’d barely left Canada.” 

“I visited, a few times,” Dylan says. 

“And that was enough to convince you to give up hockey and come here instead?” Mitch asks. 

“It wasn’t just that,” Dylan says. “I played a tourney here, once, when I was, like, 8, and that team – it made an impression on me, I guess? They were really good, and really fucking nice, too, which was wild to me. Like, even when they lost. There was one really small kid – he was a total dick during the game, but he gave everyone a hug in the handshake line, said something to me about how lucky he was to get to play. I dunno, it just – it’s a dumb story, I guess.” 

“It’s not,” Mitch says, too quiet. “Do you, uh, remember anything else about that kid?” 

“Yeah, my mom has a picture – I think he wore the C? 93, was his number,” Dylan says. “Why, do you know him?” 

“Um,” Mitch says. “Something like that.” 

Dylan looks over, and sees that Mitch is trying not to smile, and he’s confused, for a second, but then it clicks. “Wait.” 

“Hi there,” Mitch says, holding up his hand, and Dylan laughs, a little incredulous. 

“No fucking way,” he says. “That was you?” 

“The one and only, apparently,” Mitch says. “Wow, small fuckin’ world.” 

“Small something, that’s for sure,” Dylan says. 

“Are you making fun of me for being short when I was 8?” Mitch says, and the tops of his cheeks are red. “Because I was very insecure about that.”

“Nah, I’ll make fun of you for being short now,” Dylan says. 

“I’m 6 feet tall. You’re barely taller than me,” Mitch says. “And you’re lanky as fuck.”

“You’re scrawny as fuck,” Dylan retorts. 

“Take that back,” Mitch says. “I’m fucking strong, dude.” 

“Oh yeah? You gonna flex for me, Marner?” Dylan says. 

“Your fiancé know you talk like that to other guys?” Mitch says, grinning all victorious, except Dylan feels his face fall, and Mitch’s follows suit. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean – I was joking, I swear.” 

“It’s cool,” Dylan says. “It’s fine, sorry, I–”

“And I’m sorry I kissed you,” Mitch adds, except it’s all in one breath, so it sounds more like, ‘AndI’msorryIkissedyou.’

“No, it’s okay,” Dylan says. “No one saw, no harm done.”

“But you’re engaged, and that wasn’t cool of me,” Mitch says. 

“I mean, it’s not – he’s my friend,” Dylan says. “It’s not like we’re – y’know.”

“In love?” Mitch says, too quiet.

Dylan’s stomach does something complicated at that, but he ignores it, just says, “Yeah, that.” 

“Oh,” Mitch says. “Shit.” 

Dylan shrugs. “It’s kinda your fault.” 

“Guess so,” Mitch says, slowly. “Wow, I – jeez, why are you even talking to me?”

“‘Cause you won’t leave me alone,” Dylan says, smiling a little. “Nah, you’re – I mean, it’s fine. He’s a good dude, we both know the deal, and he’s already a royal, so he can be discreet about his – whatever.” 

“So you guys are gonna see other people,” Mitch says. 

“I mean, eventually,” Dylan says. “After all the wedding press. I mean, I’m not gonna download Tinder or anything, but if I meet someone–” he shrugs. “I dunno. That’s not my main focus.” 

“What about him?” Mitch asks. 

“I mean, honestly, I’m pretty sure he has a thing for his brother’s bodyguard,” Dylan says nonchalantly. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that.”

“My lips are sealed,” Mitch says, and for a second, Dylan believes him, except then, he thinks about it, and furrows his brow.

“Wait, shit, I shouldn’t have said that,” Dylan says, because the reality of the situation is starting to dawn on him. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have said any of–”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell,” Mitch says, a little firmer, and his face looks sincere, but Dylan just – he can’t afford to trust his instincts, with this. 

“Why should I believe that?” Dylan says, backing away from Mitch, not sure when they started standing so close. “You’re trying to steal the fucking crown–”

“I was, but – shit, Dyl, I’m not trying to sabotage you,” Mitch says. 

“Wh – of course you’re trying to sabotage me,” Dylan says, and he skates back to where his shoes are, suddenly aware of how cold it is outside. “You’re here, aren’t you?” 

“That’s not–”

“And when you kissed me earlier? Is that what that was?” Dylan says, furiously unlacing his skates. “Trying to make it seem like I’m lying to the people–” 

“No, god, can you just–”

“And now you’re gonna run to the papers and tell them that – what, that I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t played you in hockey when I was 8? That I’m some kind of power-hungry fraud who’s willing to pretend to be in love with someone just to–” Dylan’s eyes go wide. “Oh my god, that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it.” 

“What?” Mitch says, and he looks kind of helpless, but Dylan has no choice but to tell himself it’s just an act, even if it’s convincing. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dylan says. “You kiss me, whisk me away in the middle of the night to go ice skating, get me to open up, start being all trustworthy – god, you realized you couldn’t be king instead of me, so you figured being king  _ with  _ me was the next best option?” 

“You’ve got this so wrong,” Mitch says, pleading. “Dyl, I swear I’m not–” 

“I at least thought you’d want what’s best for this country,” Dylan says, practically spitting, and Mitch’s face turns from desperate to furious in a second. 

“Fuck you, I  _ do  _ want what’s best for this country,” Mitch says. “And I thought it could maybe be you, but I guess you’re just some paranoid Canadian fuckhead–”

“I’m as Genovian as you, Marner,” Dylan says. “And I’ve worked too fucking hard to let you get in the way of this, alright? So get the fuck off these grounds before I have you kicked out of this country.” 

“You can’t  _ banish  _ me,” Mitch says. “That’s some Middle Ages bullshit.” 

“So is eldest son inheritance, but it’s fucking me over anyway,” Dylan says, shoving his feet into his shoes. “I’ll check on the letter of the law later, but for now, just know that I never want to see you face again.” 

“Fine,” Mitch says, but Dylan’s back is already to him, walking away as fast as possible. “Have fun with your loveless marriage.” 

“At least he’s honest,” Dylan calls back over his shoulder, and he doesn’t look at Mitch’s face for a reaction.

 

***

 

Mitch doesn’t leak anything to the press, which is good. 

Dylan doesn’t know why he doesn’t. He tries not to think about it, and instead, throws himself into wedding preparations. 

 

“Hey,” Mikey says, knocking on the door while Dylan’s in his study. “I just – the wedding’s tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Dylan says. “What’s up, man?”

Mikey bites his lip. “We don’t have to kiss, right?”

Dylan crinkles his nose. “I hope not.” 

“Yeah, I just – no offense–”

“None taken.”

“It’s just – y’know.” Mikey shrugs. “It’s not that kind of marriage.” 

He looks about as sad as Dylan feels, which is to say, very, but pretending he’s not at all. 

“Hey,” Dylan says, and he stands up, puts a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “We’ll be good, though.” 

“I know, it’s just – it’ll be weird, to not ever get… really married.” He shrugs. 

“Are you backing out?” Dylan asks. He tries not to sound accusatory, and he also tries not to sound excited. 

Mikey shakes his head. “Nah. Just – cold feet, I guess.” 

“Alright,” Dylan says. “Y’know, I think we’ll fall in love, someday.” 

Mikey looks at Dylan like he’s grown two heads. 

“With other people,” Dylan amends quickly. “Not with each other.” 

“Oh, okay, yeah,” Mikey says, looking relieved.

 

***

 

Dylan does not know how to tie a bow tie. He wonders if Mitch does, then thinks about literally anything else. 

“Here, I can do that,” Ryan says, and Dylan gratefully hands him the strange piece of fabric. He did not bring John Tavares to the wedding, but Dylan figures this makes them even.

He turns to Connor, trying to think of something to say, but Connor’s squinting at his phone, frantically scrolling, eyes wide. 

“Are you good?” Dylan asks. 

“Um,” Connor says. 

Dylan snaps. “Davo, dude, what’re you–” 

Connor looks up. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Everything okay?” Dylan asks. 

“Yeah, just–” Connor looks at the door, then back at Dylan. 

“Is there some sort of emergency?” Dylan asks. 

“Maybe?” Connor says. “I’m sorry, I–” He glances at the door again. 

If it were anything less than life-or-death, Connor wouldn’t ask to leave, so Dylan says, “If you need to go–”

“I’m so sorry,” Connor says, then books it out of the groom’s suite. 

 

Connor isn’t back by the time they walk in to start the ceremony. 

Mitch isn’t there either. Not that Dylan was expecting him to be, or even wanted him to be, but he’s not. 

Dylan hasn’t thought that much about what his wedding day would be like, but he didn’t expect to feel this… alone. 

 

They’re at the altar, and Dylan is feeling a lot of regret, about this. 

Just – Mikey’s great, but he keeps looking at Nate, and Nate keeps looking back, giving Mikey all these encouraging looks that are also sad, somehow, and Dylan just. He doesn’t care about his own love story, but he feels like he’s getting in the way of something that could be really great, for them. 

So, when the officiant asks if anyone has any objections, Dylan decides, fuck it, and looks Nate in the eye, tries to give him a look, like,  _ dude, object, it’s okay.  _

Nate doesn’t do anything but stare back, almost confused, but Dylan doesn’t break, just keeps thinking, keeps hoping, even.

The officiant tries to move on, but Dylan raises a finger at him. “No, uh, give it another minute maybe,” he says, not looking away from Nate. 

A few more minutes of staring. Probably, it’s awkward, but Mikey looks more hopeful than he has in weeks, Dylan can see out of the corner of his eye. 

Just as Nate opens his mouth to say something – and, honestly, it’s one small step for Nate and Mikey, one giant step for true love, in Dylan’s opinion – the double doors at the back of the hall slam open, and a voice yells, “I object!” 

He turns to look, and it’s– 

Connor. 

Not quite what Dylan had expected. And don’t be mistaken, he’s happy to not have to leave Mikey at the altar, but things are probably gonna be awkward with Davo for a bit now. 

“I mean, it’s not – it’s not like  _ that,  _ it’s just – there’s a piece of information Prince Strome should have,” Connor says. “I – it’s not like–” 

“We’re just friends,” Dylan says easily, and everyone laughs, but Dylan runs off the altar and out into the hallway, with Mikey following close behind.

 

In the hallway, they huddle. 

Connor explains, “Okay, so, I’ve been doing some research, and it turns out there’s sufficient legal precedent that we could probably get this second son law overturned through the normal legal channels in a matter of weeks.” 

“But the king is stepping down next weekend,” Mikey says. “They have to crown someone.” 

“If the case is pending, they may just crown Stromer anyway,” Connor says. “Otherwise, Marner would be their interim leader.” 

“He’d just not overturn it, then,” Dylan says. “This is Marner we’re talking about.” 

“I have a signed statement saying otherwise,” Connor says. “And a video, too.” 

“A video?” Dylan says, ignoring whatever his stomach is doing right now, because that’s definitely not helpful. “How did you get him to–”

“He approached me,” Connor said. “Wanted something legally binding, or whatever, and the video was something he had already.” 

There’s a lump in Dylan’s throat when he speaks. “What does it say?”

Connor gives Dylan a look, then wordlessly pulls out his phone, hits play on a video. 

It’s only a few seconds long, but it’s Mitch, as earnest as Dylan can imagine, saying, “Dylan Strome is a good prince, and a great man, who loves his country very much. He is the rightful King of Genovia.” 

Dylan just… stares at it, a little disbelieving, and he can barely process Mikey and Connor talking next to him. 

“Dyl,” Mikey says,  his voice gentle. “I – is the wedding off?” 

“Yeah,” Dylan says, not looking up from the phone. “Yeah, I – go back inside, I’ll make an announcement in a second.”

Mikey nods jerkily once, then runs off, and it’s just Dylan and Connor in the hallway. 

“He sent me that earlier,” Connor says. “But it’s at least a week old, I think.” 

“Why?” Dylan asks. 

“He told me he was skeptical, at first,” Connor says. “That he didn’t trust you, but then that changed, and he just – he didn’t know how to get you to believe that he wouldn’t screw you over.” 

“I mean, a legal statement is a place to start,” Dylan says. 

“He’s – have you looked into his career?” Connor says. “He’s pretty opposed to archaic laws in this country, says there are too many loopholes in the system.” 

“He was exploiting one,” Dylan says. 

“He told me he’s not the biggest fan of the monarchy in general,” Connor says. “Guess he felt okay screwing a prince out of a grab at power.” 

“God, he’s an asshole,” Dylan says. “How the fuck is someone who’s so obnoxious also a good person?”

“Means to an end?” Connor says. “I think he just really cares about the things he cares about.” 

“Like Genovia,” Dylan says. 

“Yeah,” Connor says, and then he hesitates for a second. “And you, I think.” 

“He doesn’t–”

“He does,” Connor says. “He called me – he didn’t realize that you and Mikey weren’t…” 

“Oh,” Dylan says. 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “So he just – he told me that you deserve to be happy, and I agreed.” 

“Davo–”

“I know it’s your choice, but I’ve seen  _ The Notebook  _ with you way too many times to think you’d want an arranged marriage,” Connor says. “You’re a romantic.” 

Dylan shrugs. “A little.” 

“You’re making the right choice,” Connor says, squeezes Dylan’s hand, and Dylan smiles at him, suddenly a little misty-eyed. 

“For Genovia, or for myself?” Dylan says. 

“Both,” Connor laughs, and Dylan smiles, sniffs once, then turns to go back into the hall. 

 

All the busy chatter in the room quiets down the second they enter, and Dylan’s feeling almost eerily calm as he walks to the front of the room, a small smile on his face. He puts a hand on his mother’s shoulder as he walks past her, notices the way Nate’s standing a little too close to Mikey, protective in a way that’s very un-bodyguard-like. 

Dylan grabs the microphone from the officiant, clears his throat, and turns to the crowd. There are a lot of people, and Dylan knows this is probably going to be a mess of a speech, but whatever.

“So,” Dylan says, “I, uh, intend to become king of this country, because I love it, and I want to protect it. That’s what you try to do as a ruler. Um. Marrying someone who is – like, a great friend–” he turns to Mikey, who gives him a smile and a thumbs up “–but not someone I want to marry is not, uh, part of that duty, and very recently, I got word that regardless of whether or not we got married today, the country and its people will be in good hands. So, yeah, we agreed to call the wedding off.” 

There’s a beat of awkward silence, so he smiles and adds, “Party still to follow, though,” and everyone laughs. A few people start to get up, even though most seem to be pretty glued to their phones right now, and Dylan realizes that his mentions are probably going to be out of control tonight.

“Wait,” Mikey says, stepping forward, and then, almost as an afterthought, turns around and whispers something in Nate’s ear. Nate grins really wide, nods, and Mikey grins back and grabs Nate’s hand, and Dylan, because he is a hopeless romantic, nearly clutches his heart to his chest, but instead just hands Mikey the mic. 

“Okay, so, you know how we’re already set up for a wedding?” Mikey says, and once Dylan nods and starts to clap, everyone else in the hall does too, except for Ryan McLeod, who rolls his eyes very hard.

“I will banish you, don’t test me,” Dylan says to Ryan.

“They’ve been dating for five minutes,” Ryan says. “Not even that. They’re idiots.” 

“Idiots in  _ love _ ,” Dylan says, and Ryan just sighs, like he’s the only reasonable person in the room.

 

***

 

Mitch is sitting outside the throne room, which is, conveniently, one of the first places Dylan thinks to look for him.

“I knew you were around,” Dylan says. 

Mitch doesn’t look up, even as Dylan sits down next to him. “Thought you didn’t want to see my face.” 

“I thought you were a liar, too,” Dylan says. “I’ve thought a lot of wrong things in the past.” 

“So I take it McDavid got there in time?” Mitch asks. 

“He did,” Dylan says. “He showed me your video.” 

“What’d you think?” Mitch asks. 

“Pretty standard,” Dylan says. “Or, as standard as that can be, I guess.” 

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” Mitch says. 

“It worked out in the end,” Dylan says. “You would’ve been a shitty king.” 

“Fuck you,” Mitch says, sounding more tired than anything else.

“You would’ve,” Dylan says. “Or, maybe you would’ve been an alright king, but you’re too good at being a shit-stirrer.” 

“What does that even mean?” Mitch says. 

“This was all part of some government reform plan, wasn’t it? You were gonna let me be king all along,” Dylan says. “You were just gonna ascend the throne for a bit, prove a point, and then maybe stick around to keep me in check if I turned out to be a total dickweed.” 

“Can kings use words like dickweed?” Mitch says. 

“Mitch,” Dylan says. 

Mitch sighs. “What, Connor figure out that one too?”

“No, that one was me,” Dylan says. Then, after a beat, “What did Connor figure out?”

“Y’know,” Mitch says. 

“Not really,” Dylan says. 

There’s a second of silence, and Dylan is expecting Mitch to say something, but he keeps staring at the ground. 

“The other day, by the fountain–”

“I already apologized for that,” Mitch says. 

“But that’s the thing,” Dylan says. “You apologized for kissing me, but I kissed you, too.” 

“You–” Mitch says, and there’s a really long pause after that. “I guess you did.” 

“And I had fun skating with you the other night,” Dylan says. 

“Skating is fun,” Mitch says, his voice neutral. 

“It is,” Dylan says. “With you.” 

Mitch turns to look at him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that there’s a wedding happening in another wing of this palace, and I don’t have a date,” Dylan says. 

Mitch smiles, and it’s small, but it’s also kind of amazing, in Dylan’s opinion. “What about your ex-fiancé? If you left him at the altar, you should probably accompany him to the reception.” 

“Did your phone run out of battery or something?” Dylan asks. 

“I turned it off,” Mitch says. “Why?”

“I mean, generally when a royal heir calls off his wedding and the other groom ends up marrying his brother’s bodyguard, it tends to be, like, at least regional trending topic,” Dylan says. “Maybe even BuzzFeed News-worthy.” 

“What?” Mitch says, smiling wider. 

Dylan stands up. “You missed a lot,” he says, and he holds out his hand for Mitch to take. “I’ll tell you about it on the way?” 

Mitch looks at Dylan’s hand for a second, then takes it, lets Dylan tug him up, and tangles their fingers together before Dylan has the chance. “Guess someone’s gotta keep me in the loop.” 

“Transparency is key if you want a government that the people can trust,” Dylan says. “Gotta keep the citizenry informed.” 

“Mmm, talk dirty to me,” Mitch says, and Dylan is about to turn around so they can walk out, maybe come back with a quip of his own, except Mitch pulls him in for a kiss, which is a much better idea.

 

**Author's Note:**

> untagged things: very brief appearances by matt and ryan strome. 
> 
> **bonus content:**
> 
> -dylan's foot pops when they kiss by the fountain, mitch's foot pops when they kiss outside the throne room. 
> 
> -dylan and connor met in college! they were the two best IM hockey players. by, like, a lot.
> 
> -genovian hockey culture is very nice. they have one not-so-great international team that gets much better when dylan takes the throne. i’m 100% serious.
> 
> -nate and mikey happily reside in whatever country the mcleods are in charge of (let’s call it genovia 2: electric boogaloo) and nate retires, until he realizes he doesn’t get to professionally bother ryan mcleod anymore, so he goes back to being on that security team. ryan pretends to be annoyed. he is not.
> 
> -mitch 100% turned off his phone to avoid notifications about dylan getting married :( 
> 
> -dylan's off-the-cuff speech at the altar should be read in his postgame voice, which is to say, incredibly fast with long pauses around all uh's and um's.


End file.
